<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>and all is wiped away by emlof</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24341854">and all is wiped away</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/emlof/pseuds/emlof'>emlof</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Trek: The Original Series</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Established Relationship, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 07:34:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,168</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24341854</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/emlof/pseuds/emlof</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a long moment where they are suspended, Jim looking into Spock’s eyes, searching, as if they will be more revealing than his words. Perhaps they are, because Jim breaks the silence hanging heavy around them with a soft parting of lips, a quiet exhalation that might be a sigh. </p>
<p>“Ah. Head wounds—they bleed very badly, don’t they?”  </p>
<p>-- </p>
<p>A quiet night in the captain's quarters.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James T. Kirk/Spock</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>136</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>and all is wiped away</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s quiet, in Jim’s quarters. </p>
<p>The ambient noise of the ship at night is easy enough to filter out – Spock lets it all wash over him, the sound of footsteps in the hall outside, the whirring of the vents as air circulates into the cabin, the occasional announcements from the bridge – it all fades away as he listens to the soft, steady breathing emanating from the figure in his lap. </p>
<p>They hadn’t even made it to Jim’s bed, hadn’t even changed from their filthy uniforms, just collapsed wearily on the couch. Spock is certain some of the planet’s foul-smelling mud will be ground into the fabric for the remainder of the mission. He’ll have to remind Jim to make amends to his yeoman, somehow.  </p>
<p>The blood on Jim’s shirt is long-dried, now, faded to a dull reddish-brown that blends in with the rest of the dirt and grime making his command golds nearly unidentifiable.  </p>
<p>They should have showered, he thinks with a faint frown. </p>
<p>They should have showered, but it was the beginning of gamma shift and they had both been nearing two consecutive ship’s days awake when they had stumbled from med bay, Jim holding himself up through sheer willpower for the walk that Spock knows took seven point six three minutes exactly but felt interminably long. “Won’t do to have the crew see me looking as bad as I feel,” he’d murmured tiredly in the turbolift, fixing Spock with a stern look when he offered a steadying arm. “But you already knew that.” </p>
<p>He’d been right, of course, but it hadn’t made it <em>easier,</em> watching the captain walk stubborn and stiff-backed through the hallways and knowing that he could have helped, in some small way.</p>
<p>The act had fallen apart, of course, as soon as the door to Jim’s quarters slid shut. He’d finally given in, allowed Spock to take his weight and guide him to the couch where he’d fallen into a graceless sprawl, head in Spock’s lap. He’d fallen asleep in minutes, humming contentedly as Spock carded his fingers through hair still matted with blood, and Spock had followed soon after. </p>
<p>It is never advisable to fall asleep on Jim’s couch; Spock had known this even as he allowed it to happen. There’s an uncomfortable pinching in his neck from the awkward angle at which it’s been resting as gamma shift slowly ticked into alpha. </p>
<p>That had been – two hours ago? Spock is still tired enough that his sense of time is slowly clicking back into place. Yes, two hours, give or take – he’ll forgive himself the imprecision for now – since McCoy had mandated them both three shifts off-duty and given Spock strict orders to “keep an eye” on their concussed captain. </p>
<p>“As if you would ever let him out of your sight,” he’d muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes. Even after years of working together he forgets about Spock’s hearing, sometimes – or perhaps not, perhaps he’d meant for Spock to hear the fond exasperation in his tone.</p>
<p>Spock could monitor the state of Jim’s concussion through a surface meld easily enough, if he wanted to. But the couch has grown uncomfortable, and although he could bear it there’s no need to – and they both could do with a change of clothes. He leans down and presses a kiss to Jim’s forehead instead, waking him for the pleasure of seeing his eyes blink blearily open, the tired smile as he looks up at Spock.</p>
<p>“You stayed.” He looks faintly surprised. Spock wonders if he ought to be offended.</p>
<p>“Doctor McCoy has instructed me to observe you for any worsening of your symptoms.” Spock means for it to be stern, but the words come out far too soft to be effective; the warmth in Jim’s eyes is proof of that. “How is your head?”</p>
<p>“And they say romance is dead.” Jim chuckles, then winces at the noise. “Still. You could’ve made a yeoman do it, I’m sure you have better things to do than sit around letting me drool on your leg. In fact, I’m the captain—I know you do.” </p>
<p>“I would not leave you,” Spock says, then snaps his mouth shut. Remarkable, Jim’s ability to get under his skin so effortlessly, even after all these years. Almost certainly unintentional, and yet – the effect is the same.</p>
<p>“Oh,” Jim murmurs, “well. Alright, then. You don’t have to.” </p>
<p>“No.” Spock’s voice is firm. He looks Jim in the eyes. “I do not.” </p>
<p>“Alright,” Jim says, then, a moment later, “I’m fine, Spock. You know that, right?”</p>
<p>“If you are attempting to reassure me, please know that it is unnecessary.” Spock’s voice is unexpectedly brittle, giving too much away. He finds he is unable to make eye contact. “As Doctor McCoy would not have released you from sickbay if he felt your health was in danger of deteriorating. However, if reassurances were necessary – which they are not – ‘fine’ is not an acceptable one.” </p>
<p>“Variable definitions, I know,” Jim interrupts, pushing himself up on one elbow. “Spock—"</p>
<p>Spock looks at him, then, because he knows it is expected of him. There is a long moment where they are suspended, Jim looking into Spock’s eyes, searching, as if they will be more revealing than his words. Perhaps they are, because Jim breaks the silence hanging heavy around them with a soft parting of lips, a quiet exhalation that might be a sigh. </p>
<p>“Ah. Head wounds—they bleed very badly, don’t they?”  </p>
<p>There’s a long pause. Spock’s eyes flick entirely against his will towards the skin on Jim’s forehead, still pink with the lingering effects of the dermal regenerator. </p>
<p>“Yes,” he says, finally, looking down at his hands. He blinks and cannot stop the memory of Jim, crumpling to the ground and laying unmoving, so unbearably and unnaturally <em>still</em>—</p>
<p>When he opens his eyes Jim is sitting up, his hands clasped over Spock’s, warmth and reassurance and faint concern seeping through the contact. </p>
<p>“You alright?” he asks quietly.</p>
<p>“You are quite impossible,” Spock informs him, leaning forward to press a kiss to Jim’s temple. “I am operating within acceptable parameters; it is you who had the dubious privilege of Doctor McCoy’s hospitality today.”</p>
<p>Jim’s lips twitch upwards. “I’ll keep that little remark between us,” he says, evidently satisfied with whatever Spock has just given away. Then he looks down and his eyebrows shoot upwards, as if he’s only just now realized the state of his uniform. “Christ, look at us. We’re a mess.” </p>
<p>When he looks back up at Spock his eyes are bright. “Shower with me?” </p>
<p>“I do not know—” </p>
<p>“Now wait a minute, mister, you haven’t given me time to make my case. I’m convinced even you won’t be able to find fault in my logic.” </p>
<p>Spock inclines his head, eyes warm with entirely un-Vulcan amusement. </p>
<p>“Well, the way I see it – I’m filthy. You’re filthy. I think the occasion justifies breaking into my water allowance, and I doubt you want to try to get all that—” he pointedly looks Spock up and down – “off with the sonics. And I seem to recall Bones ordering you to ‘keep an eye’ on me – what if I get dizzy and slip? Seems terribly dangerous to me. It’s two birds with one stone – we save water <em>and</em> you can make sure I don’t keel over.” </p>
<p>Spock presses his lips together to contain his smile. Judging from the way Jim’s gaze softens he is not entirely successful. </p>
<p>“Well? What’s the verdict?” He is struggling to keep a straight face as he asks – he already knows he’s won.</p>
<p>“You have argued a convincing case where none was necessary, Jim,” Spock says, and finally Jim gives in to the wide grin that’s been building since he started talking. He leans in, rests his forehead against Spock’s, breath warm against Spock’s face when he laughs. He’s still smiling when he presses his lips against Spock’s, amusement flowing bright and warm through the brief contact. </p>
<p>“Come on, then,” he says, “or I might get too comfortable, and then even you won’t be able to move me, three times the strength or no.” </p>
<p>His hand is warm when Spock takes it, another kiss.</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>In the bathroom Jim strips unselfconsciously, letting his filthy uniform fall to a heap on the floor. Spock folds his, leaves it on the counter. The clutter might have bothered him, once; now it is reassuring to see the traces of Jim scattered around the room. </p>
<p>They have undressed in front of each other many times before; Spock’s breath still catches at the ease of it, the openness Jim usually holds so close to his chest but gives so freely, to Spock. There’s trust in that gesture, and it’s long grown familiar but being reminded of the depth of it is too much to bear, sometimes. </p>
<p>Jim’s back is to him. Spock can see the bruises littering those broad shoulders, is suddenly overwhelmed with the need to touch, to feel Jim’s warm skin and reassure himself that he’s safe. It had been too close, today. If he were thinking logically he would know that Jim’s injuries are no worse than those of the past – but logic has been overridden, for now, with worry and care, and they are neither of them as young as they once were.  </p>
<p>Jim looks over his shoulder with a small smile, raises his eyebrows in a faint impression of impatience. “Well? Are you going to stand there and stare all day, or are you coming in?” </p>
<p>He’s looking at Spock through his lashes, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. Filthy and bruised and tired as he is, and those eyes still so warm where they hold Spock’s gaze. </p>
<p>He realizes he’s been staring without a response when Jim tilts his head, questioning. Mouth suddenly dry, Spock nods wordlessly in response. Jim just shakes his head, amused, and turns on the water. </p>
<p>The spray is warm when Spock steps inside, which means it is just this side of too-hot for Jim – the proof is in his skin, already flushing pink. But when he goes to adjust the temperature to something more comfortable Jim stops his hand. </p>
<p>“No, leave it,” he says, “I’m – it’s nice.” </p>
<p>Spock hums his disapproval but drops his hand. The look Jim gives him is self-satisfied, like he’s caught Spock behaving illogically – which he has – but Spock does not have to bear it long because Jim drops his head to his chest with a groan. </p>
<p>“God, but I’m sore,” he says, muffled where he’s talking into Spock’s chest. Then he pulls back, eyes narrowed. “Spock – are we <em>old?”</em></p>
<p>He looks faintly scandalized at the thought, Spock does his best not to let his amusement show but Jim has always been too good at reading him; he swats Spock on the arm with a scowl. </p>
<p>“Thirty-seven is hardly old, Jim,” Spock says, before Jim can complain, “but – it is not so young, either.”</p>
<p>Jim’s eyebrows are raised, some combination of indignation and entertainment. It was not the intended outcome of Spock’s observation– but, perhaps, a predictable one.</p>
<p>“Oh? And what do you mean by that?” </p>
<p>“Merely that some activities that could be tolerated in your youth are… inadvisable, now,” Spock says, running his hands pointedly across the bruises littering Jim’s shoulders. </p>
<p>Jim hums, thankfully sounding more amused than offended. “I take it wrestling with the Altrean High Councilor is one such activity.” </p>
<p>Spock allows a single raised brow to communicate what he thinks of that particular understatement of the day’s events. “Perhaps.” </p>
<p>“Now, don’t think a head wound can stop me from knowing when you’re calling me an idiot, mister,” Jim says, poking at Spock’s chest – but there are familiar wrinkles at the corner of his eyes. He is only teasing. </p>
<p>Spock, raising an eyebrow, says nothing — just smooths a hand across what Doctor McCoy has reduced to a pale scar across Jim’s forehead. </p>
<p>“Reckless,” he murmurs, “and needlessly so.” </p>
<p>Jim opens his mouth, shuts it again. “I would promise not to do it again,” he finally allows, “but I know how you feel about lying.”</p>
<p>“I would not ask you to make a promise you cannot keep,” Spock says, exhaling something close to a sigh. “Still—"</p>
<p>“I am sorry,” Jim says, stilling. “I can’t help it, but— I never mean to worry you. You know that, right?” </p>
<p>“I do,” Spock admits. “But your intent does not change the inevitable outcome, in this instance.”</p>
<p>Jim looks at him wordlessly for a moment, then—</p>
<p>“Come here,” he says, tugging on Spock’s wrist and pulling him fully into the spray. When Jim’s mouth finds his Spock is surprised by the heat of it, the fervor with which Jim presses up into him. For all that Jim is capable of inspiring him to give over to passion Spock finds that he has no desire to do so now – he wants to take his time, to be slow and gentle and careful with him, to remind him how precious he is. </p>
<p>He brings his hands up to Jim’s face slowly, stilling him. Jim’s eyes are searching when they meet his.  </p>
<p>“Slow, Jim. <em>Ashayam.</em> There is no hurry.” He presses a kiss to Jim’s forehead, careful as he has ever been.</p>
<p>Jim draws in a breath, short and surprised. “Oh – alright. Alright, Spock.” </p>
<p>He leans back down, and Jim’s lips against his are soft and unhurried, careful. Something about it feels inevitable, unavoidable. Years, since their first kiss, and still Jim takes his breath away, still he thinks he could devote hours of unending study to this man, to capturing the way his lips shift into a smile against Spock’s, to cataloguing every taste and touch and sound. The miracle of him, the miracle that he is here, that they both are.</p>
<p>When they pull apart for air they just – pause, for a moment, foreheads pressed together, breathing hard. Spock does not look away as he reaches around Jim for the shampoo. </p>
<p>“I would do this for you, if you would permit me.” </p>
<p>Jim nods wordlessly, eyes wide and mouth faintly open. There’s something rough in his voice when he finally responds. “Of course.” </p>
<p>Spock washes the caked mess that is Jim’s hair, then, does not break eye contact as his fingers card through the mess of dirt and dried blood along his brow. Even when Jim’s eyes flutter shut he does not look away – he suspects he could not if he tried. </p>
<p>The shampoo is standard issue, the same could be found in any bathroom aboard the ship. Still, it smells right in Jim’s hair, more right, at any rate, than the metallic tang of blood it replaces. He works slowly, massaging Jim’s scalp inch by inch until his hair is returned to its golden brown and slides soft through Spock’s fingers. Finally he reaches the nape of Jim’s neck; Jim makes a helpless pleased noise, leaning into the contact.    </p>
<p>When the water finally runs clear, Spock indulges, leans forward to kiss Jim’s brow, his jaw, his neck. Jim looks faintly dazed when he opens his eyes. </p>
<p>“Spock, what—” he clears his throat, but his voice is still breathless enough that Spock knows he is not entirely teasing – “what’s gotten into you?” </p>
<p>Spock hums against his ear. “I simply wish to remind you—” he pauses, suddenly uncertain of what he was going to say. Jim pulls away, enough to look him in the eye. </p>
<p>“If you will not take adequate care with your person, it is only logical that I should do so in your stead,” he finally admits. Jim smiles at him, small but genuine, and entirely too knowing. Despite all that they are Spock finds himself embarrassed by his honesty, can feel heat rising on his cheeks. He has to look away. </p>
<p>“Your back,” Spock says, eyes fixed on the tile over Jim’s shoulder. Jim is still smiling indulgently at him but acquiesces and turns away. It’s a relief not to be caught in that piercing gaze, even though he knows every point of contact between them is humming with more unspoken emotion than his face could ever betray. Still, it’s – easier, somehow, to let Jim feel it this way. </p>
<p>The tension in Jim’s shoulders has lessened only slightly with the heat of the water. He lets out a low groan when Spock digs his thumbs into the muscle of his shoulders, relaxing into the touch as Spock works out the tension, first around his neck, then down his spine. His breath hitches when Spock drops to his knees but Spock does nothing beyond pressing a kiss into the angle of his hip – just massages down Jim’s thigh, his calves, rinsing away the dirt and relaxing the muscle with a singular focus he can tell Jim finds overwhelming. By the time he repeats the motions on Jim’s other leg Jim is leaning heavily against him, one hand braced against Spock’s shoulder. </p>
<p>Spock stands again and runs his hands down Jim’s arms, and Jim tangles their fingers together and lets Spock pull him closer to his chest, where he leans, warm and dazed and relaxed to the point of being half-asleep. </p>
<p>“Maybe you were right about the water being too hot,” he murmurs, smiling into Spock’s skin. “It seems I’m rather lightheaded, all of a sudden – no, leave it.” </p>
<p>He pulls back, looking at Spock with his eyebrows raised, as if daring Spock to protest. But Spock knows better, just stands still as Jim returns the favor, sleepily rinsing the lingering dirt from Spock’s hair, every action steeped with care. </p>
<p>They stand there under the warm spray, every point of contact a wave of <em>sorrysorrygladyou’reokreliefgratitudelove</em> and Spock can’t tell what is coming from who, anymore, just that it’s all soft and warm and golden, all-encompassing. It’s only when Jim yawns against his shoulder, when he can feel their mutual bone-deep exhaustion creeping back to the surface, that he finally brings himself to shut off the water. </p>
<p>--</p>
<p>“I was planning on seducing you, you know,” Jim says, turning his head from where it’s been crushed into his pillow to look at him sleepily. </p>
<p>“Yes, Spock says, altogether too fond, as he runs his fingers through Jim’s hair, “I had gotten that impression.”</p>
<p>“Well. It’s the thought that counts, I suppose. And we’ve got time.” </p>
<p>Spock hums his assent, years of warmth and careful touches and knowing looks and, probably, concussions, unfolding before him all at once, bright and full of promise. He presses the knowledge of it into Jim’s mind, waits as he turns it over, considers it, adds to it.</p>
<p>“Concussions too, huh?” he mumbles sleepily against Spock’s shoulder. “Good to know you’re keeping things realistic.” </p>
<p>He’s feigning offense, but Spock can feel the smile against his skin.</p>
<p>Vulcans are not prone to idle daydreams – so this must be a certainty, an absolute truth they see stretching out before them. Jim turns into him, breath soft and warm against Spock’s collarbone, and Spock lets the thought carry them both into sleep.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>title is from 'poem: à la recherche de gertrude stein' by frank o'hara which quite frankly makes me lose it a little with how tender it is.. thank you for reading~</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>